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 ment, was seriously ill with pneumonia, and she must go to him at once.

The members of the concert committee looked at each other in blank dismay. What was to be done?

“This comes of depending on outside help,” said Olive Kirk, disagreeably.

“We must do something,” said Rilla, too desperate to care for Olive’s manner. “We’ve advertised the concert everywhere—and crowds are coming—there’s even a big party coming out from town—and we were short enough of music as it was. We must get some one to sing in Mrs. Channing’s place.”

“I don’t know who you can get at this late date,” said Olive. “Irene Howard could do it; but it is not likely she will after the way she was insulted by our society.”

“How did our society insult her?” asked Rilla, in what she called her ‘cold, pale tone.’ Its coldness and pallor did not daunt Olive.

“You insulted her,” she answered sharply. “Irene told me all about it—she was literally heart-broken. You told her never to speak to you again—and Irene told me she simply could not imagine what she had said or done to deserve such treatment. That was why she never came to our meetings again but joined in with the Lowbridge Red Cross. I do not blame her in the least, and I, for one, will not ask her to lower herself by helping us out of this scrape.”

“You don’t expect me to ask her?” giggled Amy MacAllister, the other member of the committee. “Trene and I haven’t spoken for a hundred years. Irene is always getting ‘insulted’ by somebody. But she is a lovely singer, I'll admit that, and people

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